Arthur of Camelot (Part 1)
by JD Elledge
Summary: Five years after becoming king of Camelot, 20-year-old Arthur Pendragon fights unbearable struggles involving his fiancée (Guinevere), his knights of the round table, and figures from his past.


J.D. Elledge

 _ **Arthur of Camelot**_

Based on the Characters from _The Once and Future King_ by T.H. White

And the Disney film _The Sword in the Stone_

Prologue

Merlin guided Arthur to his throne: lined with perfect velvet and gilded with the purest gold. Though the wizard's face was bright and joyful, the boy's was not—in fact, it was fraught with fear.

"Now then," grumbled Merlin, taking notice of this, "what seems to be troubling you, Arthur?"

"Merlin, I can't possibly be king," the young one exclaimed. "I don't know how to rule a country, command an army, or even fight battles. Why do they have so much faith in me?"

With a stroke of his beard, Merlin smiled once more and patted Arthur on the head. "My boy," he began, "that's precisely why you are to be king. Arthur Pendragon, there's more to you than you know."

After finally placing himself upon the throne, Arthur felt a bit better, but still apprehensive. "Merlin… what if I need you again?" He asked, "What would I do then?"

Merlin pondered this a while, but shortly reassured young Arthur that all he'd need to do is trust his own heart. Though not an entirely clear answer, it lightened the boy's mood for the time being. With that, the enchanter vanished, leaving Arthur alone in the hollow room. The silence was almost impenetrable: the combination of faded tapestries and barbaric armor on display furthered the eerie sense of dread. As Arthur sank further into his noble seat, he could swear the silence was broken by thousands of voices united in the chant for their new hope.

Without a single doubt in the new king's mind, they were singing a brilliant homage to the one who'd pulled the sword from the stone and wrought the country out of ruin.

They sang:

 _Hail to Arthur, who saved us all._

 _Hail to Arthur, he pulled the sword_

 _From out the stone. Long may he reign_

 _Upon his throne. Camelot is his and his alone._

And finally, Arthur's spirits were lifted.

PART I

 _Arthur and the Strange Girl_

-1-

On a particularly lovely day—a rare occasion for Camelot—the twenty-five-year-old King Arthur found himself romping along with a new loyal knight. Lancelot Dulac had ventured from his home in France to become a knight of Arthur's round table. He was not a good looking man—his face was rough and far from perfect and his short hair lacked the flow of Arthur's along with the other knights. Fortunately, Lancelot's brawny strength and overwhelming confidence proved his worth to the king, and secured him a seat amongst Arthur's select few. These qualities rather impressed Arthur who'd not seen a bravado like Lancelot's or met one who could match his power.

On this day, the two were riding deep into the forest beside Castle Camelot to practice archery. Arthur had earlier placed three targets within the wood, specifically for sparing the trees the point of an arrow. Long since his childhood, Arthur was always kind to nature and nature never failed him in time of need. Many battles over, the woods provided Arthur and his army with cover in case of a retreat—after which, his forces would defeat their opponents with surprise. This supplied Camelot with many victories and many happy nights of freedom.

When they finally spotted the targets, Arthur and Lancelot dismounted while bantering towards each other.

"I must say, Lancelot, your ego is hard to match," Arthur chuckled.

With a smirk Lancelot laughed back, "My boldness may not last long today, your highness."

"Don't sell yourself short, old boy," said Arthur, bow in hand.

Without even a second being wasted, Arthur slung an arrow back with the bow string, squinted his left eye tight, locked onto the center of the bright bullseye, and— _smack_. Before a pin could drop, the arrow had struck into the target, but roughly an inch above where he was aiming.

"Excellent shot, sire!" Lancelot stood in awe. "A perfect bullseye."

"Nay," Arthur grunted, "the perfect bullseye is an inch lower."

But even at a second glance, Lancelot could not tell the difference. Nevertheless, he drew his own arrow against the bow in his hands.

"Have you ever shot an arrow before?" Inquired Arthur.

"Not as much as I would hope to, but I know what it takes." Lancelot answered while taking aim at the same target.

Lancelot was preparing to fire the same way Arthur had, but he somehow seemed more intimate with his weapon—and, therefore, more dangerous. The moment was so intense that time seemed to stand still. Arthur was beginning to feel more on edge, wondering if he'd offended the knight by asking about his experience with a bow. At this point, Lancelot's gaze had grown sinister… as if he were seeing red directly in front of him. His arrow was much more of a horrid design than Arthur's: it was made from fine steel, but bore a serrated edge and a barbed tip to increase damage. After what seemed like an ungodly hour, Lancelot breathed an ominous sigh and the arrow flicked away from his bow in a straight path. In the blink of an eye, the target, previously marked by Arthur, had another arrow jetting out from the center of it.

"How is that?" Lancelot asked in a genuine tone.

But Arthur made no effort to answer, for he'd been dumbstruck by the fact that Lancelot's arrow landed an inch lower than his own.

"Sire," Lancelot turned to Arthur, "are you well?"

Arthur was unaware of the surprised look on his face. "Yes, yes I am," he insisted.

"Well, then is that a good shot, your highness?"

"My friend that is a perfect bullseye."

But before there could be further discussion about the matter, the men were alarmed by a quick rustle amongst the thickets. They both, cautiously, gripped the hilts of their swords while taking brisk steps backwards. Another brush of leaves occurred, followed by a swift shadow behind them.

"Your highness," whispered Lancelot, "could it be an attacker?"

"I suppose," Arthur said, squinting hard that he might see a clearer figure, "but we won't know if we stay over here, will we?"

With a nod towards each other, they crept softly towards the patch of bushes where the rustling was growing louder and more frequent. Arthur drew his gleaming blade, raising it higher than his opposite arm that reached for the leaves in front of him. Lancelot stood a few paces behind Arthur who quickly snatched the branch in his fist and thrusted it away. Before he could strike, he glanced surprised at what he saw. The disturbance was because of a young, beautiful woman. Her face was clean and bright, but her clothing was covered with dirt and stitched patches hardly finished to begin with. Arthur met her gaze with sympathy, but hers was writhing with nervousness.

"Sir Lancelot, it's alright." Arthur halted his companion as he sheathed his sword.

Lancelot glanced over to see the frightened girl. "Lord above," he exclaimed, "she's scared to death."

Arthur knelt down to the lady. "What is your name?" He asked.

The woman did not answer—only shivered with a mild whimper.

The king then made for his saddle, retrieved a large cloak and blanketed it over her. He signaled Lancelot to ready his steed and return to the castle while he was doing the same.

"Your highness, what're we to do with her?" Asked the knight as he mounted his horse.

"She'll stay a night in the castle," Arthur stated. "I sadly think this woman's mind is slow… and she may have seen destruction before. In our home, she'll never know danger."

Lancelot flinched one of his eye brows. "I don't know, your majesty. What will your lady have to say?"

"Fair Guinevere will pay no mind to it," Arthur said sharply. "As Christians we must show kindness to those in need of it. Just as our savior had in his time."

The sun was still proudly displayed in the blue scape above the land when the two armor clad warriors galloped away with the weak peasant. Shortly this poor wretch was to be introduced to a world she'd never known—a land of peace, comfort, and safety.

-2-

In the private library of Castle Camelot, Lady Guinevere was calmly reading a favorite of hers. It was a mythos of the land before humans—elaborating on mysterious creatures, enchantments, and undiscovered territories. Before she'd made the trip to Camelot, Guinevere was a lady of nature, for she'd never have anything to do with modern weapons or metal instruments. She felt all she wanted to know would be given to her from the skies, her troubles would be solved by speaking to the trees, and prayers were to be sent through the earth. However, these ideals proved to be a challenge against Arthur. Guinevere had traveled from the far reaches of the isles as a choice for Arthur as a bride. The young king had only that year discovered his duty to marry, and was fearful about it.

When Guinevere made her much anticipated entrance, Arthur had gotten along quite well with her. Both were close in age and both passionate about being fair and true. It would have been love at first sight if they hadn't disagreed on one another's belief. Arthur had grown to be a devout Christian—he believed in God above and his divine son, Christ who died for the sins of all mankind. Guinevere had no such stance. She couldn't fathom the idea of an almighty "God" looking over everyone on Earth, nor of his son who came from heaven to die for human's sake. This disturbed Arthur, but he couldn't deny a woman who bore such eloquence and beauty. Therefore, he remained content.

As Guinevere began to place the book away, she was alerted by troubadours sounding her fiancée's return from archery. She smiled prettily and darted down the corridor from the roomful of literary intrigue. Though it would seem unlikely, Lady Guinevere couldn't bear the fact of being away from Arthur for very long. She'd been a maid since her dear mother passed away; Arthur was the only suitor in her life and also a chance to be royalty. A once in a lifetime opportunity in her eyes. She zoomed quickly down the steps toward the castle doors, and beamed bright once she spotted Arthur and Lancelot riding in.

She made her way towards him as he planted both feet on the floor. At once, they both embraced fondly—though they'd only been separated momentarily.

"My dear," Guinevere swooned in Arthur's arms, "it is beyond rewarding to see you command a room so valiantly."

"My fair Guinevere, I make the best effort for your sake." He remarked in his deep, suave register.

During this, they took no notice of Lancelot retrieving the young woman they'd saved—who was now unconscious.

"My lord," said Lancelot, alerting Arthur, "the young one has become faint. Where shall we keep her?"

"Make her comfortable in the visitor's chamber," Arthur requested. "I'll see to her later."

The knight made haste towards the steps, carrying the woman. Guinevere was quickly puzzled. "Arthur, what is the meaning of this?" She muttered, hushed but still alarmed.

He then glanced in the direction the two had fled. "She was alone in the woods," Arthur responded. "She was quite fearful, and weak, so we took her for safekeeping."

"But my love," Guinevere exclaimed, "what if she has intentions to do harm?"

"What do you mean?"

The fair lady had now grown serious. "She could be a spy from the enemy. Now that she knows of where Camelot is, she could get back to her forces and reveal our weaknesses."

Arthur suddenly scowled disapprovingly. "How dare you insinuate such things," he declared.

"But Arthur, you know nothing about her."

"I know enough." He said, almost shouting. "She's a mere peasant—you can tell by her clothing—and she couldn't even speak when I asked her name." Arthur quickly sat Guinevere down with him to speak more gently. "My beautiful Guinevere, this woman may have witnessed a horrible occurrence. Why else would she be frightened so?" She nodded in agreement as Arthur caressed the back of her soft hands. "All I ask, my love, is that we give her shelter tonight. We'll see her off the next morning. Even to the end of town if you wish, but please let her stay tonight."

Guinevere gazed longingly into her dear one's stare and finally said, "If I am to let her stay, would you do one thing for me?"

"Anything," Arthur gleamed.

"Then please be so kind as to shave that beard."

Over the years of his rule, Arthur had been very keen on his appearance. Everything was to be straight and in order from his neck down, but he never did a thing to alter his growing facial hair. By the time he was twenty-four, Arthur had grown a full beard and kept it that way, but now his lady was demanding that he shave it. "What?" He shook. "My beard? Why?"

Guinevere giggled happily. "My dear, it keeps me awake at night. Lying next to you would be so much more comfortable if there wasn't a sharp bundle of fur jetting from your face."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but knew quite well that he had to obey. "Very well, my love, by your request this beard will be gone after supper."

* * *

Two hours passed by when Arthur made his trip to the visitor's chamber. Coincidently the room was a few feet away from the lending library (different from the private library), which made it simple for visitors to help themselves to a casual reading of a good book now and then. Arthur crept up to the door of the room and softly knocked three times. Though no verbal answer came, Arthur assumed it was alright for him to enter. As he turned the knob and swung open the door, he noticed the woman now quiet and in a deep slumber. Sitting beside the bed where she slept, Arthur softly nudged her awake. She jolted a bit at the sight of him.

"Don't worry," he said assuring her, "I'm not here to harm you. I'm Arthur, King of Camelot. But please don't feel obligated to call me 'your highness.'"

She finally started to relax, but remained alert as if it was her instinct to do so.

"You shall stay here till morning. My men will guide you to town where you will always be safe."

Though he thought he was making sense to her, the girl was looking at him awkwardly. She had hazel eyes that bore a specific sparkle in the dim light of the room. Arthur tried to repeat his words, but quickly found that she wasn't paying attention to them. She rather paid special attention to _his_ eyes. Arthur noticed that she saw him differently than he saw her: she showed a face that Arthur recognized as the "you look familiar" kind of expression.

"Do—do you think you know me?" Arthur asked.

Then, rather abruptly, the lady inched towards him. Her hand extended to his face, from which Arthur felt he should retreat, but he didn't. She finally touched Arthur's cheek, just above where his beard started, and stared even harder into his eyes. Even stranger, she began to sniff—as a dog or any mammal would to identify something. Arthur quickly directed her away, but she still seemed curious.

"Young woman, I assure you… we have never met before," he said as he stood to leave. "If you would care to have supper, it will be in the dining hall. Our servants will guide you if you get lost."

-3-

To Arthur's surprise, the young lady accepted his invitation to dine with them. She even donned a pleasant gown, lent to her by one of the court dressers. While her appearance was by far an improvement, her eating habits proved to be otherwise. She focused her energy onto her front teeth and rapidly munched away on her food—neglecting the silverware as well. This clearly upset Guinevere and somewhat disturbed Arthur, but neither of them spoke a word, feeling weary of this strange girl's sensitivity.

Upon finishing dinner, Arthur rushed to the wash room to shave his proud beard. _Sad to see this go_ , he thought, _but it will be interesting to discover a face beneath this_. Bit by bit, the hairs collapsed as Arthur scraped the small blade along their base. Five minutes went by and Arthur had barely gotten to his skin, but the floor under his feet had quickly began gathering puffy blonde patches of his severed beard. After an additional seven minutes, Arthur finally spotted bare skin. _Well, fancy that_ , went his thoughts again, _I haven't looked like that since I was fifteen_. He then applied the final scratches against his cheeks, chin, and neck till he couldn't spot a single hair. He'd actually grown so bewildered by his new look that he hadn't noticed the young lady was behind him.

"Oh," he jumped, "forgive me, I didn't see you there." He placed down his razor and wash rag. "Well, how does it look?" He asked, flashing a confident smile.

The girl did not show any sign of approval, but her eyes suddenly glistened. Before Arthur could ask again, he felt an incredible shove. As he slammed upon the ground, he found the woman holding him in a fond embrace, nuzzling her face against his. "Madam," Arthur huffed rather aghast, "this is hardly appropriate." But she continued to cuddle him as if she had longed to hold him in her arms. Arthur got to his feet and sternly shoved her arms off of him.

"See here," he asserted, "I don't know who you think you are, but you are not to show me this sort of affection from now on." He brushed his vest free of the lady's fine red locks as he started out the door. But before he could be out of earshot, a small squeak sounded from her. Though almost inaudible, Arthur swore he could sense a word. "Did you say something?" He peered back into the room.

Her haunting, hazel eyes brightened as she repeated this sound which became quite clear this time, " _Cheekoo_ …"

To any other human, this would be mere gibberish. No one in the world could see a meaning in a "word" like this one, but Arthur—somehow—could. He slipped onto both knees directly in front of the woman and stared into her eyes again. "You _do_ know me, don't you?" She nodded. "And _I_ know you, don't I?" She nodded again, but with a much brighter smile than ever before.

* * *

All the while, Guinevere was brushing the braids out of her hair. Her whole mind was filled with giddy thoughts of what Arthur could possibly look like without his beard. Could he be manlier than ever—gifted with a structure only seen in a knight, or could he be much more boyish—as if his face stayed young? These questions buzzed around frivolously as she giggled to herself. Suddenly, a few knocks interrupted her train of thought. She rushed the chamber door open only to see Sir Lancelot. "Lancelot, to what do I owe this honor?" She wondered with a courtesy.

"Pardon me, Fair Lady," he bowed, "Arthur ordered a bundle of new covers and pillows." He quickly made way towards their bed and placed the parcel upon it.

"How kind," she sighed.

"Good night, m' lady," Lancelot regarded her as he made his way to the door.

"Before you go, Lancelot, explain something to me." He stood and nodded his head. "How _did_ you happen upon that woman?"

"It is just as King Arthur said," Lancelot stammered, "she was alone and defenseless amongst the thickets; we merely took pity on her."

"I see," she glared, almost with daggers in her eyes, "good night, Sir Lancelot."

"Good night, fair one." Then Lancelot was gone.

Guinevere took her place at the dresser again, but did not pick up her brush. Instead, she reached for a quill and a piece of parchment. Her eyes were now swords, piercing through the stiff paper as the tip of the ink-blotted stem scratched endlessly upon the surface. Hardly blinking, she ravaged the letter almost to the point of shredding it to bits when she suddenly heard footsteps down the hall. She dotted the last specs of punctuation, folded the paper, and stamped the center of it with a wax seal. Lastly, she tucked this article into her glory box and hid it back to its place behind the looking glass and snuck under her covers without wasting a moment. By now, her deadly glare had disappeared; she seemed at peace now… and so she was able to sleep.

-4-

The next day was a far cry from the beautiful splendor that graced the one before. The sun was concealed by a swarming haze of mist, the fields had been blanketed by a brisk frost, and the trees' branches drooped from lack of warmth and light. In addition to this dreariness, Arthur and Guinevere seemed to be evading each other. Wherever Arthur was, Guinevere wouldn't wander a step near him. Perhaps it wasn't that they both avoided each other… Guinevere was avoiding Arthur. Even the knights began to question the state of things between Arthur and his bride-to-be.

The roundtable consisted of eight knights at that point- Galahad was the noblest of them and therefore the most trustworthy. He could not bear the idea of gossiping, especially about the king and his future queen, but the other knights relished the notion. In fact, they gathered in the ale room to discuss their opinions. "What if there is no wedding?" Pondered Erec, the Courteous.

"Exactly," exclaimed Robin, the Brave. "They'd have to be in love for there to be a wedding."

Sir Dinadan, the Valiant, butted in, "Perhaps it's all for wealth."

"Certainly not!" Erec retorted.

"Well, what then?"

As the argument escalated, Galahad looked upon them from the barrels with a sharp, disappointed glare. Before the other knights' shouting could boil his blood, Galahad's mug thundered onto the floor. "Will you quite finish?" He shouted, forcing a vacant chair underneath him. "None of you know the consequences of speaking such treason… it makes me sick!"

The room fell more silent than a grave. All the knights bowed their heads full of regret and discomfort. They all began to shame _themselves_ for even thinking of what they had spoken, and Galahad stood over them as if he were a jail guard. But the silence was quickly broken by Lancelot bursting through the entrance door. He seemed to be short of breath as if he'd been in a hurry. "Has anyone seen his majesty recently?" He gasped.

Galahad raised an eyebrow. "Not since this morning," he grunted. "Why? Has something occurred that should come to his attention?" Lancelot shook his head, but still had an urgent look on his face.

"Then what's happening, man?" Exclaimed Robin.

"It's just…" Lancelot hesitated as if he couldn't catch enough air to carry on. "He's not in the throne room and nowhere to be found throughout the castle grounds."

Galahad rose from his chair in a hurry. "Is his horse still in the stable?"

"Yes, and so is Guinevere's"

With a look towards one another, the knights knew that panic would not solve this mystery. They weren't sure of whether this situation was even that serious, so they all had one single idea. Without a moment to spare, the brave ones piled out of the ale room and onto their horses to search for the missing king. The last thing they would expect is for him to be unconscious or kidnapped, but they knew they had to find him to confirm that he was alright. Galahad led the group as Lancelot tailed behind and they all rode into the forest.


End file.
